


A Life for a Life

by suspiciousteapot



Series: Imagine Claire and Jamie ficlets [7]
Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Angst, Canon Divergence, F/M, Takes place around DIA/Voyager
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-03-06
Packaged: 2018-05-12 10:47:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5663428
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/suspiciousteapot/pseuds/suspiciousteapot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anonymous asked: Imagine if Claire stayed after culloden and died in childbirth</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr  
> As always, comments, etc. are greatly appreciated :)

Jenny looked down at the child in her blood-bathed arms. A lass. A wee lass with red fuzz and blue eyes. Alive and strong. Just as her mother had been twelve hours ago.

She kissed her good-sister’s forehead, cold and clammy with the exertion of the past hours.

The bleeding had started halfway through. Just spots at first. For many hours, it was just spots.

_“Promise you’ll take care of them,” Claire asked, “Jamie and the child. Promise” The fear in her eyes was gone, but the iron will remained the same._

_“I won’t have to, because you’ll be there to do it. That’s what I promise.”_

She had truly thought she could keep that promise. Despite her own mother’s death, she’d though that surely, with Claire’s medical knowledge – much of it passed on to her during the pregnancy – the stubbornness on both of their parts, and the midwife’s skill, any difficulty could be managed. Things would work out this time, she’d done everything she could to make sure of it. She was not a powerless child this time.

But it hadn’t mattered. She had been just as powerless this time as she’d been the last. Once the bleeding had truly started, nothing could staunch the flow. It had been quick then. So quick. Claire had died before the child had taken her first breath.

Claire had fought so hard to keep this child, but the pregnancy had been fraught from the first. She’d told Jenny of their first lass’s death, explained that she couldn’t bear that again. She had asked her that too - when the contractions had begun - to do everything she could to make sure the child lived. Jenny felt a deep surge of anger at the injustice of it; though her child should live, Claire would never hold her, never nurse her, never sing her to sleep.

“I’m so sorry, mo piuthar,” she said in farewell, “I’ll take care of them both, I promise.” That promise, she could keep. Insofar as she could, she would hold them together, her niece and brother.

Jenny handed the bairn to the midwife. Jamie needed to hear it first. He needed time to process that Claire was gone before seeing their child.

As she walked down the hall, she wondered if it was a blessing or a curse that the child looked so much like her brother. A blessing at first, perhaps, to not see Claire’s look in the child she’d given her life to. Though her brother would likely see it as proof that it was his fault. She would have to tell him it wasn’t, that Claire would roundly curse him for believing that. Her heart ached at the fear that over time it would only grow more painful for him with time, to look at his daughter and see only himself reflected back. As she walked down the stairs, she made Claire another promise; she would teach the bairn about herbs and healing and such. Her daughter would have something of her.

Jenny stopped halfway down the stairs, Jamie’s eyes fixing her in place, begging her to tell him it was all well; that her blood-soaked gown was not what it appeared to be.

“Ye have a daughter, brother.” It was all she could say.

“Claire?” He asked, his voice scratchy, barely audible. It still contained the fragile vestiges of hope.

She shook her head, and her brother’s face broke. He let out a small, thin wail, and hid his face in his hands. Suddenly she was ten again, looking at her father as he wept for her mother. Being strong for him, and for her brother. She would be strong again for him now, but this time she worried it wouldn’t make a difference. Jamie was no wee laddie, and Claire held his heart and soul. Had held.

“Go hold your wife Jamie. Go say goodbye.”

He rose slowly, needing to see her, but knowing that seeing her would mean accepting that she was gone. His eyes were frighteningly empty, and Jenny silently prayed that she wouldn’t lose him too.

After a moment’s hesitation, she followed him. The midwife silently exited the room, handing Jenny the bairn once more. The lass was blessedly sleeping, unaware of her own loss. Jenny held her tighter, and waited at the door, watching her brother anxiously. She knew he should have some privacy, to say goodbye, but she feared what he might do if he was left alone.

“Sassenach.” Jamie’s voice broke as he fell to his knees beside the bed. “Claire.”

He climbed in beside his wife, gently cradling her in his arms and pressing his face to her hair.

How long they remained like that, Jenny was unsure. Sometimes Jamie wept, sometimes he whispered sob-punctured pleas and endearments into the cloud of Claire’s hair, and sometimes he simply held her, unable to accept that she would never return the gesture.

Finally, he spoke clearly. “I’ll take care of her, mo nighean donn, mo cridhe. I promise.”

As though she understood that someone was speaking of her, the wee lass chose that moment to wake, a loud cry shattering the stillness of the room. Jenny turned to leave, but Jamie stopped her.

“Bring her here.”

He held his daughter in one arm, the other still around his wife; holding them all together for the first and last time.

“Claire,” he said softly, “Claire Brianna Ellen Beauchamp Fraser”


	2. Nighttime conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous asked: Oh please please write more about the heartbreaking Claire dies au, maybe young Bree asking about her mother? Or Jamie with the baby?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Response to a prompt sent to imagineclaireandjamie on tumblr  
> As always, comments, etc. are greatly appreciated :)

Claire curved the lovely length of her back, pressing the heels of her hands into the small of it to relieve the constant ache of childbearing. Smiling, Jamie came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her, hands splayed over the writhing mass of her belly. 

“He’s quite the bonny fighter!” He commented with a kiss to her warm neck. Unlike the last one, this pregnancy had made her restless, and her skin always burned like a coal. It worried him, but she assured him all was well.

“Or she.” Claire corrected, a tad sharply. “And Christ do I regret mothering a warrior’s child. My body will be black and blue from the inside out by the time this child makes it into the world!”

He huffed a laugh into her hair as he nuzzled it. Frustrated though she was, he could hear the underlying tone of pride and joy. She was almost nine months along, and their child would soon make its entrance into the wide world. They couldn’t be more excited.

But it had taken its toll on Claire, and Jamie knew the pregnancy hurt her more than she would say.

“Take off yer shift lass, and I’ll help ye with yer back.”

She sat on the edge of the bed, but hesitated for a moment. Often as he’d told her he loved her body, she was still uncomfortable with the lines that traced across the underside of her belly.

Rising, he stripped off his own shirt, baring himself to her. The scars crossing his back and thigh, as well as the smaller ones that peppered his entire body alternately stood out in bright silver and hid in shadow in the moonlight.

Her eyes closed slightly in appreciation, her mouth twisting up into a smile.

“Aye, and if ye can look on me with appreciation and desire, mangy and scarred as I am, is it so hard to believe I can do the same with your bonnie body?”

“Alright then, you win.” She conceded, stripping off her semi-transparent shift. He allowed himself a moment to appreciate her beautiful form before coming to kneel behind her and pressing his knuckles to the small of her back.

She arched in pleasure, groaning as he kneaded out the nots. He felt himself stiffen at the sound, and could not stop himself from pressing a lingering kiss to her neck and sucking at her earlobe. She made a decidedly appreciative noise at that, and twisted to catch his lips with hers, pulling on his hand to bring him closer. He obliged, pressing himself to her and cupping her swollen breasts as they kissed each other breathless. 

She turned to face him, bringing a hand up to cup his face. Her other hand found purchase significantly lower, and he dropped his head to her shoulder with a gasp as she began to gently stroke him. Too consumed with lust to protest, he pushed into her hand, letting out a quiet whine of pleasure as she gripped him tighter and faster. When at last he collapsed into her arms, he briefly revealed in the feel of her harsh breaths ruffling his hair, and the feeling of his child kicking against him. This silent moment after completion was surely paradise, he thought, as his heavy eyes fell closed. This was the feeling people spoke of when they attained finally joy and peace.

He came to with Claire’s fingers gently running through his hair. Slowly he raised his head, turning to brush a light kiss against her lips and up across her cheekbones. To her eyelids and nose. As he lowered her, he continued his moth’s trail down the lines of her neck to the small pool at the base of her throat. Then along the collarbones, feeling her heart beating strong and fast against the thin skin of his lips and tongue.

Heeding his sister’s words those long ago days when they’d first come to Lallybroch and she’d described that late in pregnancy ye just wanted to be touched everywhere, or else jump out of yer skin, he began to run gentle hands along his wife’s body. She hummed in appreciation, giving a small gasp as he traced his fingers over the hard peaks of her breasts. Replacing fingers with lips, he freed his hands to roam lower, earning a deep moan of appreciation. Slowly paying homage to every inch of her body he brought his mouth down to join his fingers.

He knew she’d said to wait, but he would be sure to be gentle, and it would require no strain on her part. So he pressed forward, wetting his lips and urging her onward with his tongue. 

A cry pierced the night and he smiled against her heat. To bring Claire to heaven just by the brush of his lips was a joy in and of itself.

But the cry took on a more urgent tone, breaking from pleasure into something more urgent.

The rising tone of the cry jolted him awake to a cold bed, his wife’s side heart-wrenchingly empty. As it did every time he woke, Claire’s death momentarily knocked the breath from his lungs. Then wee Claire gave another cry and his breath returned. Muscles aching, he rose slowly and walked to her trundle. She was waving her arms, her hands grabbing at air. Hungry, then.

 _It should have been yer mother to do this, lass._ He thought, as he always did when he fed her. Taking her feeding cloth, he dipped it in the small bottle of goat’s milk he kept in the closet. Jenny prepared daily bottles for him after the milking, and wee Claire happily drank them up.

He gathered her soft, solid form in his arms, then laid her down against his raised leg as he settled himself on the window ledge, looking out over the peaceful, clear night. He took a deep breath and looked back at the serenely joyful moonlit face of wee Claire, eagerly sucking at the cloth.

"You’ve quite an appetite tonight, mo chiusle.” He commented in Gaelic. It was one of the few times he could speak the language, and dangerous as it was, he was determined his lass would know it too. It was her right, her heritage. He spoke to her thus every night as she downed her late-night snack. “But ye did have a busy day today, what trying to crawl and trying to steal yer auntie’s fresh bread. That food’s a bit beyond ye yet! Ye’ve got a bit more growing te do before ye can stomach that. And dinna do it too quick either! Take yer time to enjoy being such a wee thing, and I’ll look out for the rest.” 

She shivered a bit and he drew her blanket up around her. “I ken we had a bit of a scare with the redcoats last night, and ye’re no quite recovered. That priest hole is no place for ye, but I couldna pass ye te yer auntie. We didna have enough time. But that’s all past now, and they’re well on their way. But soon they’ll come back, and I’ll have te be in my wee hiding hole when they do. I’m so sorry te be leaving ye for so long, a leannan, but a cave’s no place for ye either, so we’re better off waiting here. But ye wilna be lonely, aye? Ye’ve got yer auntie and uncle and cousins, and yer mam is always watching over ye.” 

The imminent parting ripped at his heart, and it was with shame that he remembered that he’d initially hated his precious bairn. After Claire had been buried, he’d been almost unable to look at their daughter for the resemblance she bore to him, a constant reminder that it was his fault his Sassenach was gone. But he’d held her as often as he could bear to, and soon he’d lost his heart to her as surely as he’d lost it to her mother. Though he still bore a grief almost past bearing, he knew he would do everything to bring this lass up strong, healthy, and educated. Claire would never forgive him if he didn’t.

Her eyelids drooped and the suckling desisted as her tiny belly grew full. Gently he took the cloth from her, and put another on his shoulder before raising her to it and patting her until she let out a soft, satisfied burp. Tired as he was, he couldn’t put her back just yet.

“She’s grown, mo nighean donn. Last month, she measured a little over half of my thigh. Now she’s close to two thirds of it.”

He gently stroked his daughter’s closed fist, and she opened it to curl around his finger. He let out a breath of laughter.

“Aye, and strong too. Do ye see how well she grips my finger? Her smile is so bonnie. Can ye see it? The way her big eyes sparkle when she laughs? I’m sure ye can, and that ye’d tell me she’s inherited my eyes. Ye’d be right there, though I swear she’s going to have yer brow, and her mouth is beginning to take shape after yers as weel,” he said, lightly stroking his daughter’s hair. His own mouth curved into a smile as hers did, and he wondered whose side she’d gotten that charming trait from. He’d not noticed Claire do it, and he wondered whether she’d noticed it in him.

"She’s a curious wee thing too, eager to explore everything around her. I swear she knows what it is I’m saying when I tell her of the birds that fly by, or the wee herbs in your medicine box. But I’m not sure I’m getting those right, Sassenach. Ye ken how I always confuse the ones that look alike. I’ve checked in yer book, but I’m sure I’m no doing ye justice.”

He stopped to wipe his eyes as wee Claire’s face became unrecognizably blurry. He persevered, ending the discussion with his usual promise.

“Still, I’ll do my best by our lass, I swear it you, Claire. I’ll raise her right, and teach her as much of what you would have shown her as I can. I love you mo nighean donn. Rest peacefully.”

Silently he rose from his perch, bringing his sleeping daughter back to bed and curling his arm up around her.

“And I love you, mo nighean ruaidh.” He pressed a kiss to her tiny forehead. “Milis aislig.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
